"Perfect. Safe. Yours."
"You are mine. My little girl."
Reality starts creeping back in. "What about you? You didn't—"
"Tonight was about you. About starting our dynamic right. We'll get to the rest when you're ready."
I nuzzle into his chest, breathing in his scent. Pine and something masculine and safe. "When will I be ready?"
"When you stop asking and start trusting that Daddy knows best."
We sit like that for a long time, him holding me while I come down from the intensity of what just happened. Eventually, reality starts creeping back in, and I realize we've crossed a line we can never uncross.
He tips my chin up so I'm looking at him, and there's tenderness in his eyes alongside the dominance. "This is new for both of us, little girl. I've never done this before either."
"Really?" I pull back slightly to see his face better. "But you seem so... sure."
"I'm sure about what you need. Can see it clear as day." He strokes my hair in a soothing rhythm. "And I know what I need - someone to protect, to care for, to focus on besides my own broken shit. But the mechanics of a D/s relationship? I'm learning as we go, just like you."
"You're not broken," I protest automatically.
"We're both broken, Lilah. That's why this works. We fix each other." He shifts me in his lap so I'm more comfortable. "We'll start slow. A few rules to begin with, see how it feels. If something doesn't work, we adjust. Communication is everything in this, understand?"
"Yes, Daddy."
five
Geoff
Onemonthintoourofficial dynamic, and Lilah's been perfect. She’s checking in via text, eating regular meals, in bed by ten on work nights. The studio is thriving with the new instructor handling more classes. My back is better than it's been in years thanks to her treatments three times a week.
But she needs more structure. I can see it in the way she relaxes when I make decisions, the way she lights up at even simple praise, the way she still struggles with putting herself first when push comes to shove.
Time to formalize the rules we've been operating under.
I show up at the studio after her afternoon class with a printed document, finding her in the back room reorganizing supplies she's already organized twice this week. Nervous energy she doesn't know what to do with, channeling anxiety into busy work.
"Sit," I order, my voice leaving no room for argument.
She sits immediately on the small couch, and I hand her the paper. "Your rules. Official version. Read them."
She takes the paper with slightly trembling hands, her eyes scanning the list with growing understanding:
Lilah's Rules:
Three meals a day, minimum. At least one with Daddy when possible.
In bed by 10 PM on work nights, 11 PM on weekends.
Check in via text every four hours when apart.
No purchases over $50 without discussion.
Daily vitamins (provided by Daddy).
One self-care activity per week - something fun, not work-related.
No apologizing for things that aren't your fault.
